The Ethical Culture School holds its assemblies in an 812-seat auditorium with stained-glass windows, an oversized chandelier, and oaken pews. Students file inside amid the strains of an organ—once long pipe, now digital. The organ’s sonorities complete the building’s similarity to a religious institution. Stenciled in gold lettering above the stage, which resembles an altar, is Ethical Culture’s unique motto: “The place where men come to seek the highest is holy ground.”
Beginning in the mid-1960s, I was one of those ECS students listening to amateur renditions of Peter, Paul, and Mary songs and speakers railing against the Vietnam War. The setting’s resemblance to a synagogue was something I couldn’t even intuitively sense since, despite being Jewish, I had never been inside one. Like most of my fellow classmates, I came from a highly assimilated family. I attended school on Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah, celebrated Christmas with a tree, and ate bacon with my New York bagel.
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